A Little Emerald
by Kiamii
A Short story created from the successful fanfic Ring Child.
Chapter One "Home"
A man was a boy once before, and a woman had been a girl long ago. The fact is that every single adult around had, at one point or another, had been a child. Additionally, children were the foundation of every human being. As a child, we learn what is right and what is wrong. We learn how to sing and how to dance; how to read and how to write. As children, we find that we concentrate solely on fantasy rather than reality. However, we begin to phase into the stage in which we learn about reality. For some children... It comes earlier than expected.
Harry James Potter was a sole example of this idea. As a baby, he was exposed to a rather healthy dose of Tender Loving Care (also known as TLC) from his mother Lily Evans and his father James Potter. What could only be an additional help was his godfather Sirius Black and honorary uncle Remus Lupin. Of course, his babehood only seemed to have last fifteen months before the unspeakable happened; the exposing factor of death. Everyone goes through death, but this only contributes in someone growing. Therefore, Harry was forced to grow up faster than expected...
Though one would think he would at least have the greater attention from the Dursleys considering his status of The Boy-Who-Lived. This was not the case. The truth was simple; Harry was abused. Growing up neglected and hated, Harry was confined in his magic and emotions. His uncle did not actively hit his nephew. No. That would leave evidence of the abuse... He preferred to let himself go when he was drunk and unable to remember. This would make the occasion far and far between. Harry would never forget though. The feeling of a belt slamming into the baby soft skin he held as a child. The nights he spent in the cupboard with the pitiful spiders and pure silence still grew upon his frightened mind...
This was what the Valar had watched. This was the contributing factor to their decision. They had watched him for years. From the time his parents were murdered by Lord Voldemort, they had been alerted that Harry was different than the average wizard. They found the reason for this truly sooner than they would have anticipated. Harry James Potter had a heart. A loving factor that saved him time and time again. Whether it had been facing the murderer of his parents to simply being betrayed or heartbroken. He stayed light. He stayed constant in his feelings. This was a rare thing, for many would think he would turn dark. He hadn't. Instead, he had become a hero and at last had asked for a break. A final break after what he had been put through. The Valar had given him this...
Though nothing could ever be given without a price. The Valar had sent Harry to a place called Middle Earth where Gandalf the Grey had taken him into his care. Harry had been renamed to Archir the Emerald, a rather peculiar fact. He was an Istari. At the time, the emerald green wizard was unknown and the Valar never rather exposed what the rank meant. For the next few years, Harry had encountered emotional pains. It was a wonder where the old strong willed and very much mistrusting boy had gone. Why had Harry allowed himself to succumb to another life and not put up a fuss against being taken care of? Think of this; how long can someone hold a mask. A mask of a warrior, cracks dented upon the strong and impassive stony face. For Harry, his mask had broken with the arrival of a family that he could finally call his own. But it would always be there... maybe...
The air was crisp with a sort of icey blanket hovering above the air. Days of rain were now gone and in it's place... snow. Tiny white flakes sprinkled down onto the grounds of Minas Tirith with a soft and blizzard sort of way. The flow of the wind was altogether peaceful and calming. Soothing even. The trees were asleep, their leaves shed from their thick branches for winter. Not a single creature was seen around. They hadn't been seen for awhile now. Children of men were huddled in their blankets and coats, sitting together as their mother crafted him or her a delicious cup of warm milk and a batch of sweets. Fathers would enter the house, shedding their outer layers before grinning widely at their offspring, ready to rest. Everything was not disturbed...
Except inside the King's home...
"Archir? ARCHIR!" Aragorn, King of Gondor and father of Archir, shouted through the halls of his house. No response through the echoes... Aragorn sighed and looked for his five-year-old son. A year had passed since the adoption and return of his child when he had been kidnapped. His son was still very quiet and withdrawn, but he had come to be a bit more open towards his father and family... Aragorn heard nothing from his son and had been looking for an hour. Arwen was in Rivendell with her father for a week and Legolas was out in the caves with Gimli for the holidays. The guards and staff were all at home, having been given the week off as well. Elrond and Thrandruil were at their respective homes and the hobbits were back where they belonged. Gandalf was still on his journey. Aragorn grumbled and continued looking around. He was basically alone with his son and therefore he had to look for his son without help.
As he walked miserably down the north wing, the king of men heard scuffling and the soft breathing of Archir coming from Gandalf's room. He paused, listening and he peaked in. Sure enough, he found Archir sitting on the window edge of the room, staring at the beautiful winter scenery created with an impassive, melancholy expression. Aragorn frowned only lightly as his very subdued child, before walking in. Archir didn't seem to hear him as Aragorn knelt down in front of the child. The young prince had very handsome features on his petite body. Archir was beginning to develop a hint of muscle on his arms and torso, if shirtless chest was anything to go by. This made Aragorn quirk an eyebrow. Archir was only clad in a pair of long bottoms. His robes were usually always on and this puzzled Aragorn at the absent of them.
"Hey my little son," Aragorn greeted softly, trying to get Archir's attention. Archir didn't respond and Aragorn slipped his hands under the child's arms, turning him around to face the king. Archir didn't look right at him, a frown marring the boy's face. "What's with that face?" Archir simply shrugged and Aragorn sighed with a slight smile before lifting Archir up into his arms. Even though he was five, he was still very small for his age and that made it easier on Aragorn. Archir said nothing to his father, simply using one hand to keep it around Aragorn's neck. The man and boy walked in quiet through the echoing halls, neither saying a word. Aragorn reached the prince's bedroom and placed him on the large bed.
"Now, why are you shirtless?" Aragorn inquired. Archir shrugged again in reply and Aragorn rolled his eyes in exasperation. He dug around in the closet before producing a pair of dark blue pajamas with a small A on the upper right part of the chest. He pushed Archir lightly on his back, quirking an eyebrow when Archir did not react, and slid the bottoms off. He silently dressed Archir in his clothing before sitting down next to him.
"Come on kiddo, why the face?" Aragorn pestered. Archir sighed loudly.
"Christmas is coming up... and everyone left." Archir murmured. Aragorn blinked. Could that really be what was bothering Archir? He chuckled and pulled Archir on his lap, running a large hand through the black locks of hair on the 5-year-old's face. Archir looked up at Aragorn with a small glare, upset that Aragorn laughed at his worry.
"You know they all wish they could be here for you child. Legolas is with Gimli, exploring dwarf caves for the holiday. He can't break his promise with Gimli, now can he?" Aragorn teased.
"But what of Grandpa and Daerada? Mama and Uncles Elrohir and Elladan?" Archir quipped. Aragorn sighed, pressing a gentle kiss against the boy's forehead. Archir blinked and looked at his father.
"They are kings of their own places and your mama is apart of that. I'm sure they will be back in time for Christmas. You are their only grandchild or nephew after all." Aragorn told his son. Archir bit his lip and just leaned against Aragorn quietly.
"I hate being small... I can't do anything to help anyone." Archir admitted, looking away from Aragorn. The man stood up, to Archir's surprise, and allowed himself to be carried off to the kitchen.
"I think a nice cup of warm milk should help." Aragorn said as he walked. He planned to have a long talk with his insecure son now that he had the chance...
Author's Note: So I was upset, very much, when I found out RECENTLY that Istari was plural. It's Istar. You people are CRUEL. Lol just kidding. I'm too stubborn or lazy, possibly both, to change it so you're stuck with it. Anyhow, I thought you might all like a little short story or... reminder that I still have Ring Child in my heart? Whichever you prefer. The sequel is still on consideration and I'm thinking about an alternate ending posted onto Ring Child or separately. Not sure. So it'll be months before I make up my mind I'm assuming. Also, sadly, I have once again gotten reviewers of biased and rude people with no sensitivity in their black hole hearts. They said this story was fine, and I'm happy. Yet they feel the need to call poor Archir a wimp and everything under the sun. He's Harry Potter and he remembers that. I did not 'reduce him to nothing but an annoying baby' as some of the reviews put it. When you're deprived of comfort for all of your 17 years of life, the first thing you would do after attaining so much of the comfort is a small regression and addiction to comfort. I've experienced that feeling myself, so don't say I'm being unrealistic.
It's short because this is the beginning and it's a SHORT story. LOL!